


Till Your Blood Runs Out

by queerlytired



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blushing, Blushing Derek, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Other, So much blushing, but theres fluff i swear, look thats a tag im so proud, thats literally the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:56:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7066114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerlytired/pseuds/queerlytired
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once in his life Stiles stays quiet and blames it on the fact that he hasn’t slept for almost five days now, so he’s probably -<em>definitely</em> - imagining things. Because there’s no way <em>Derek Hale</em> blushes at being called <em>pretty</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till Your Blood Runs Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyDrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/gifts).



> For my pure af Broski, [LadyDrace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace)
> 
> (who writes amazing porn and feels) (kills me and everyone else almost everyday with it, but oh well)
> 
> Anywho, I sincerely hope you like this ma bro, you deserve all the good things and sadly, this is all I could deliver. 
> 
> Beta-d by Pure Angst and Evil™, AKA [crossroadswrite](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite), bless the remainders of your soul that haven't been taken over by anime lesbians. (Okay yeah, bless those too.)
> 
> Found time to edit this thing, hopefully it has as close to no mistakes as I could get it!

He scans the photos steadily, savoring each one, regardless of what the photo presents. There are thousands, each connected to each other by various different strings; showing everything from bloody pictures of bodies torn apart to cheerful people surrounded by fucking _f_ _lowers._

He doesn’t understand how Stiles sleeps in this room.

But then again, there are black circles under Stiles’ dull eyes, darker than Derek’s ever seen on anyone, so maybe he doesn’t sleep here, maybe he doesn’t sleep at all.

Derek lingers on a picture of Boyd and has to force himself to look away before the pain in his chest increases - only to stop at a picture of a grinning Erica. He turns towards Stiles, watching him sketch some symbol, and stares at his shoulders. It seems to work, and Derek calms down. His eyes trace the lines underneath Stiles’ shirt he has to wrench his gaze away again.

When he turns back to the wall, Derek zeroes in on a picture of himself.

His eyebrows slowly pinch together when he realizes there aren’t any strings or post-it notes attached to it.

“Is there a reason my picture is on your wall?”

Stiles freezes from where he’s furiously sketching. “Uh, what?”

Derek gestures towards the picture, and Stiles squints at it.

“Um. Because you’re pretty?”

Derek - yeah, he hadn’t been expecting that.

It’s Stiles’ turn to stare as Derek ducks his head, a soft pink blush working its way to his ears.

For once in his life Stiles stays quiet and blames it on the fact that he hasn’t slept for almost five days now, so he’s probably - _definitely_ \- imagining things. Because there’s no way _Derek Hale_ blushes at being called _pretty_.

* * *

 

Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever been so wrong in his _life_.

* * *

“He wasn’t even that good looking,” Danny moans pitifully into his drink. Lydia hums comfortingly.

“We all make mistakes,” she says, and Stiles wonders if Danny’s drunk enough to make a stupid comment about Jackson. He leans against the bar to take in the rest of the club.

“They _were_ nice to look at though,” Stiles says, downing his drink, “Personally I think Ethan was prettier, but maybe that’s just ‘cause Aiden was an asshat.”

Lydia rolls her eyes.

“What about Derek?”

Stiles gives her a pointed look. Danny’s given up on drinking and is on the dance floor, grinding against some beefy guy who looks _very_ similar to the Alpha twins.

“What about him?”

“He’s rather… well, handsome is an _understatement_.” Lydia pauses on the word, and just like that, Stiles knows she’s drunk. So he gives in, turns back around, and orders another drink.

“Derek’s like some alluring alien from space trying to seduce everybody on the goddamn _planet_. He’s literally making everyone _Derek_ -sexual without even having to  _try_.”

The hand holding his drink out to him pauses and Stiles glances up.

He squeaks.

“What’re  _you_ doing ?”

A pink flush spreads across Derek’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose, just like on that night, and this time Stiles’ eyes hungrily follow it. Lydia actually _giggles_ into her glass.

“I work here.”

“Since- _”_ Stiles snaps out of his trance, “Since _when_? I was here just last week and you weren’t working here  _then!_ ”

Derek just scrunches his nose a little, and leaves Stiles’ drink in front of him to go serve someone else, leaving Stiles to stare at his retreating back disbelievingly.

(Back _side._ Whatever.)

“He blushed, right?” Stiles hisses to Lydia, praying that Derek couldn’t hear him anymore. “ _Right?_ I wasn’t just imagining it?”

Lydia only shrugs nonchalantly, but Stiles is convinced. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, thrice is a pattern - he’ll just have to do it again. One more time.

Just to be sure.

* * *

 

For _science._

* * *

 

Scott’s driving him back home in Melissa's car because his jeep’s in the shop ( _again_ ). They’re almost halfway to his house when Stiles lets out a shout, making Scott slam on the brakes.

“Dude, what the _fuck?”_

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles apologizes hastily, “I just remembered I need to go to the loft, so go left yeah?”

Scott looks behind them to make sure there won’t be any cars honking at them, then turns back to Stiles with his Alpha Face.

“ _For_?”

“ _Mom_ ,” Stiles whines mockingly, voice purposely high-pitched to exasperate Scott, “I’m  _sixteen,_ it doesn’t _matter_ if I’m out drinking, it’s only going to be me and my _friends,_ and absolutely _zero_ guys! _”_

Scott maintains his poker face and doesn’t speak to him the entire way to Derek’s.

“You can be a real baby sometimes,” Stiles informs him haughtily while leaving the car, shutting the door with more force than necessary. Scott pointedly ignores him.

He walks up to the door and starts humming the _Harry Potter_ theme song, not bothering to knock. Derek always opens it before he can anyway, and sure enough, the door whines opens not five seconds later.

“Your door needs oiling,” Stiles says matter-of-factly.

Derek wiggles his pinkie finger in his ear. “What do you want?”

Stiles smoothly sidesteps him and firmly keeps his eyes on Derek’s face so his gaze doesn’t wander down to his sweatpant-clad crotch. He both thanks and curses whatever deity planned this.

“I forgot something.” It's not a lie - he forgets something every time he's over.

“You leave something every time you come over,” Derek says flatly, making Stiles snicker. “Half the stuff lying around is yours alone.”

Stiles beams.

“Then it shouldn’t be hard for me to find my calculator!”

Derek gives him another unimpressed look and pads towards the kitchen.

Stiles wanders aimlessly for a while to avoid raising suspicion before following him, phone in hand. Derek’s at the counter with a bowl of cereal, and Stiles goes to stand opposite him, carefully angling his phone so Derek won’t take much notice of it.

“You’re _really_ pretty,” he then says, as blunt as you please.

It’s like watching a chain of reactions in slow motion; Derek’s eyes lose all leftover signs of sleep, the spoon slips comically from his fingers, his cheeks and ears go a shocking pink, an _embarrassed snarl_ forms on his face-

And then he lungs for Stiles and the phone across the counter.

* * *

 

" _So_ worth it,” Stiles crows to Scott, playing the video on repeat as they speed away from the loft.

* * *

 

He’d confirmed it. Stiles had proved that it _wasn’t_ an just an accident, and that Derek Hale did, in fact, _blush_ at being called _‘pretty’_.

Stiles glares at the screen with growing hate and smashes his thumbs on the controls.

Derek’s managed to avoid him for a _week_. It’s quite the feat, and Stiles is _pissed_. Impressed, albeit reluctantly, but pissed nonetheless.

“He’s so fucking _petty_ Scott, I only took a few pictures-”

“So delete them.”

“...No.”

“ _Now_ who’s being petty?”

Scott’s character swings his sword at Stiles’ on the screen and Stiles nearly throws the controller at him in frustration.

(He doesn’t, because it’d just splinter and the ones he likes don’t come easy, but it’s a close thing.)

“He’s- he’s such a big fucking _baby_ , Scott, I can’t- I _refuse_ to give in.” Stiles  _hmphs_ angrily and kills Scott’s character, causing ‘ _GAME OVER’_ to flash in bright red across the screen. “I’ll make him come to me, he can’t avoid me forever.”

“You make it sound like he’s your boyfriend,” Scott says in a smug voice.

Stiles doesn’t hesitate to throw the controller this time.

* * *

 

It splinters, obviously, but it's death somehow seems to send Stiles a message to hunt Derek's ass down.

* * *

 

Derek doesn’t sense Stiles right away. He’s being chatted up by two people simultaneously, from opposite sides of the bar, and Derek’s trying to enjoy it, really, but he’s still sulking over the whole - whole _Stiles_ incident _._

Which is probably immature of him, but Stiles hadn’t been the most _considering_ either, with the entire ‘ _make Derek fucking blush just for shits and giggles_ ’ thing, so fuck it.

Once he _does_ catch Stiles’ scent, he tilts his head slightly, trying to narrow down his spastic heartbeat. When Derek spots him, Stiles is already looking directly at him, hands stuffed in his pockets. Derek catches the faintest trail of anxiety - and _conflict_? -, so he sighs, picks up an empty tray, and starts weaving his way through the crowd.

He comes to a stop in front Stiles and raises his eyebrows.

...Which gradually inch up his forehead in surprise, as he senses the fondness slipping through the panic, just before Stiles abruptly reels everything in, and, not for the first time, Derek curses his emissary training.

“I need you to stop avoiding me,” Stiles says hurriedly. “Isaac glares at me more than usual, even Kira glares at me now. I can’t handle this.”

Derek gives him his flattest look and turns to leave, but is stopped by Stiles pulling him back by his sleeve.

“ _Please,"_ Stiles says, a little frantically, and Derek slowly feels he’s misread something. “I’m sorry about taking the video - even though you’re acting _really_ fucking petty about the whole thing, seriously-”

Derek clenches his jaw. He fists his free hand in the back of Stiles’ hoodie and yanks him towards the exit, dropping the tray on an empty table. He signals someone with a half-wave, probably indicating he’d be back in a while and pretends to not notice how it makes Stiles’ mouth twist down as he lets himself be pulled.

The door shuts behind them, cutting off the loud music inside. Derek refuses to let the sudden silence affect him and crosses his arms, stubbornly glaring at Stiles.

Stiles raises an eyebrow, crosses his arms as well, and stares coolly back.

Derek’s eye twitches. “I’m not _petty_.”

“Narrow-minded, then,” Stiles grins.

“You’re _impractical_ ,” Derek snaps.

Stiles’ eyebrows go up in surprise, before a slow smirk forms on his lips.

 _“_ Frivolous _._ ”

"I’m not doing this.”

“Feather brained.”

" _Shallow_.”

 _“Pretty boy_.”

Derek feels the heat spread across his face the second his brain registers the words, and this time he can’t stop his face from falling the slightest bit.

“I didn’t think you were the type to mock others for your own enjoyment,” He says quietly.

Stiles freezes.  

“What?”

Derek has to force himself to not run away. “You heard me.”

“I’m- Derek, what the fuck man, I’m not _mock-_ ” Stiles clacks his jaw shut. He looks stricken.

Derek _had_ known it’d been teasing all along, but there’d been a part of him that’d hoped the whole thing hadn’t just been some joke, so he still feels like someone's punctured his heart with a screwdriver.

“Go home, Stiles.”

Stiles leaves.

Derek goes back inside, pretending he hadn’t heard the uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat.

* * *

 

He’s leaving a cafe that’s near to falling apart, fresh cup of coffee in hand.

It’s ass o'clock at night (morning?), so when someone yanks him back sharply by his hoodie - causing him to squeeze the styrofoam cup hard enough for the coffee to go flying in every direction - he’s more than ready to send them flying into the nearest brick wall so they get splattered, just like his coffee. And that’s when he sees it’s Isaac. Of _course._

“You owe me a coffee,” Stiles frowns mournfully, magicking the coffee stains away from his clothes. Isaac gives him a hard stare.

“When was the last time you saw Derek?”

“..Um.”

“Two weeks?”

“Dude, no-”

“He’s  _moping,_ ” Isaac hisses, “Yesterday Kira sat down to watch some disney movie with him and she said he _cried_ at the end _._ ”

Stiles blinks. “Okay? We all knew he was a softie.”

“It’s not _okay!_ ” Isaac cries, “He’s fucking _depressed_ , because he hasn’t seen you in nearly a _month-_ ”

“Isaac, man, I saw him just last night, can’t you smell him? I haven’t exactly showered.”

Isaac looks doubtful, but before Stiles can say anything else, Isaac’s hauled him closer and is giving him a _thorough -_ sniffing _._ Because there really isn’t any other word for that.

Stiles holds his breath patiently, because Isaac smells like he hasn't showered in for _month_ , until he's let go of, Isaac giving him a satisfied nod.

“So you talked to him?” Isaac continues, unperturbed, like he didn’t just have his nose down Stiles hoodie two seconds ago.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“We talked?” Stiles shrugs helplessly.

“ _About_?”

“Cock rings and vibrators man!” He throws his arms in the air. “The fuck is up with the twenty questions?”

Isaac looks _heartbroken._ “You mean you _didn’t_ talk about that stuff?”

“Isaac. Dude. We talked about the vampires in town,” Stiles isn’t meeting Isaac’s eyes, and Isaac narrows his gaze again, “You know, the pale guys?

“Stiles,” Isaac starts exasperatedly, “ _W_ _hy_ are you avoiding Derek?”

“How do you know it’s not him avoiding  _me_?” Stiles crosses his arms defiantly.

“I didn’t think of that,” Isaac says hesitantly, “Why would _he_ avoid  _y_ _ou_?”

Stiles purses his lips and glares. He swings around and stalks towards his jeep.

“Oh, real mature, Stiles,” Isaac calls after him. “Run away, let the wolf come after you.”

Stiles isn’t entirely sure what that’s supposed to mean, but it makes his cheeks heat up, so he flips Isaac off as he drives away.

Mature his _ass_.

* * *

 

“I think Derek hates me.”

Scott’s hand meets his forehead loud and hard, checking his temperature.

It takes Scott about seven pep talks and three bro-nights in their boxers, chugging mountain dew like, “ _Mountain_ men drinking _mountain_ dew, get it Scott?” Stiles hiccups.

He’s halfway through his third 1.5 litre bottle of mountain dew - and Scott _still_ has to try building him up to the idea of having a thorough talk with Derek. From the reason of unnecessarily making Derek blush to confessing his  _undying love_ for him.

“You can’t talk to Derek if you’re on a sugar high, Stiles,” Scott says, years of experience making him pry the bottle away.

Stiles looks at him with betrayal written over his face.

“Why not?”

“Because-” Scott hesitates. “I- I actually have no idea.”

He hands the bottle back and watches morbidly as Stiles chugs down whatever was left and opens up another bottle. Even after years, Scott’s still fascinated.

“I’m a horrible person,” he whispers to himself.

He waits till Stiles is done relieving himself in the bathroom, before wrapping an arm around his waist, dragging him downstairs and into his car, thankful his mother had the nightshift today.

Halfway down the road, Stiles stops making faces at himself in the window and turns to Scott with wide eyes.

“Scott, _no_.”

Scott resolutely doesn’t look at him.

“Scott, I’m wearing _socks._ Without _shoes._ I’m in my _pajamas._ ”

“All you have to do is clear up whatever confusion there was because of the whole video thing and confess your _ever-lasting feelings-”_

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“-for Derek to him. Either you’ll both end up in bed, so it won’t matter _what_ you’re wearing, or he’ll refuse you-”

_“Scott!”_

“-in which case _I’ll_ spend the night with you and beat him up tomorrow. So yeah man, either way, there ain’t no problem bro.”

Scott lets go of the wheel to shrug exaggeratedly at him. Stiles clutches his seat.

“I can’t believe you’re taking advantage of my sugar high like this.”

“It’s the only time you’re less... _stubborn_. Somewhat, anyway,” Scott parks as near to the loft as possible. “Off you go.”

“This is _manipulation_ ,” Stiles protests weakly, “I’m going to show Kira that easter video, I swear.”

“You said you deleted that,” Scott says skeptically, even though his hand goes back to the key to start the engine up again, because this is _Stiles._ “If you really have it, I’m out of here, seriously-”

“Wait, so you’re gonna go back because of a freaking _video_?”

“It’s _embarrassing_!” Scott cries, “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I knew you still _had_ the fucking thing-”

“I even have the the ones from summer three years ago!”

There’s a split second where Scott just gives Stiles a look of utter _horror,_ and then Stiles is rapidly unbuckling his seatbelt and Scott is unbuckling his, then they’re both rushing out of the car to stand face to face, hissing curses at each other aggressively.

“Why would you _keep_ those, man-”

“Blackmail material! _Obviously_ it payed off, I can’t believe my _entire life_ equals to just a few _videos_ to you-”

“How many others do you have that you said you’d lost?!”

Stiles falters, starting to smell unstable. “I-”

And then something fucking _growls_ and they both let out high-pitched shrieks, clamping hands down on each other’s mouths. They stare at the dark silhouette a few feet away from them with horror.

Derek stares back with his arms folded firmly against his chest. Stiles shakes Scott’s hand off.

“Why would you _do_ that?” Scott bares his fangs in an attempt to seem more serious and offended, but Derek doesn’t give any signs of even _bemusement._

“How much of that did you hear, exactly?” Scott asks after a minute.

Derek’s voice is stoic. “Werewolf. Take a guess.”

“Right,” Stiles says after a minute, desperately wishing his mind was a bit more clearer and that his sweatshirt had pockets. “We’re just going to leave.”

“ _Actually,_ ” Scott drags Stiles to the door of the loft, going past Derek in the doorway and sitting him down on the sofa inside, “Stiles has something he’d like to tell you. _Everyone_ would appreciate it if you listened.” He slips back out and sits in his car again. “I’ll be waiting out here.”

He waits till Derek stops staring at him and goes back inside the loft.

Scott rolls his window down, props his feet on the dashboard, and pulls his phone out.

* * *

 

Derek isn’t exactly sure what he’s supposed to do.

Stiles is glancing wildly around, looking everywhere but in his direction, knee bouncing, eyes rimmed pink.

It reminds Derek of a caged animal, and he has to stamp down the urge to wrap a blanket around Stiles’ shoulders. He sits across him and is promptly reminded of the day- the day Stiles took the fucking _video,_ causing Derek’s nervousness to be replaced with annoyance.

“I-” Stiles starts suddenly, only to shut his mouth again with a click. He crosses his legs and uncrosses them. “I didn’t make you blush so I could make fun of you,” he says quietly.

Stiles’ heart doesn’t stutter when he says it. Which doesn’t count, not really, because he's somehow trained himself to be able to lie to werewolves. But Stiles has a tell for telling the truth; clenching his jaw _very_ subtly. It always makes Derek think maybe Stiles doesn’t believe others think he’s telling the truth.

But now? Derek’s confused because he apparently _is_ being told the truth.

“Okay.”

Stiles seems perplexed. “Okay?”

“That’s what you came here for, right?”

Stiles looks as lost as Derek feels.

“No- I mean, yes, technically, but-” Stiles motions aggressively with his hands, “ _Y_ _es,_ but Scott said I have to tell you _why_ I did it, too!”

“There was a _reason?_ ” Derek asks exasperatedly.

“Yes!”

“ _Well_?”

“I-” he ducks his head and mutters, “I like it when you blush.”

Derek’s jaw drops.

“I don’t _blush_ ” he objects vehemently.

“You’re doing it _now,_ ” Stiles accuses.

“Am not _,”_ he snaps.

Stiles purses his lips and before Derek can blink - he’s either getting rusty or he trusts Stiles beyond the point of oblivity - he’s snapped a picture of Derek and has his mobile shoved in his face.

“ _Look_ ,” Stiles scowls, “You blush _pink_. Every fucking time I call you pretty or something, you-”

Derek stares at himself in horror and promptly crushes the phone.

“You owe me a new one,” Stiles says smugly.

“You could just magic it back.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Stiles,” Derek leans back in his chair, “the reason?”

Stiles falters again. He then - _very_ slowly - leans forward.

The way Derek’s heart starts beating double is _un-fucking-called_ for.

“I’m _in love_ , Derek.”

* * *

 

Scott bangs his head on the steering wheel in mortification.

“Oh my _God.”_

* * *

 

“With _you_ ,” Stiles clarifies, “In love with-”

Derek covers Stiles’ mouth with a large hand, and Stiles double takes at Derek’s face.

Which is flaming. Aflame. Whichever. Derek's _red -_ Stiles can feel the _heat._

“You’re not-” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “You’re not _lying._ ”

Stiles’ shakes his head earnestly, eyes wide, and tries to say something that gets muffled by Derek’s hand.

He dubiously moves his hand away. Stiles grins hesitantly.

“You’re not gonna tell me to leave?”

Derek pauses. Stiles doesn’t wait long enough for an answer, still on his sugar high and cups Derek’s face with cold fingers.

He feels the heat spread from his fingers to the tip of his nose and his toes curl.

“You still haven’t told me to go,” Stiles breathes. “Can I kiss you?”

Derek doesn't trust his mouth and replies by flexing his hands on Stiles hips. Stiles blinks.

"Huh. When'd that happen?" He mumbles to himself, looking at Derek's hands wrapped around him. He looks back up at Derek.

"You're warm."

"You're in my lap." Derek chokes out.

“You’re blushing again,” Stiles beams, his thumbs stroking along the sharp cheekbones.

“ _Stiles_.”

“You’re just so _pretty_ -” Derek surges up and Stiles leans down to meet him, and he's on  _fire,_ and Derek's so warm he thinks he's on fire too, and-

They pull back - just barely - to breath, and Derek's looking at him all concerned and he realizes he's trembling like a bunny. 

A bunny about to be eaten by a wolf. 

"Hi," he shakily says. Derek's grip tightens on him and he looks down.

“Are you going to leave?” He asks quietly. "Scott- Scott's going to come inside in two minutes."

“I- I can’t,” Stiles eyes are bright from so up close. “I’m wearing socks.”

Derek blinks, distracted by Stiles’ red mouth - _so_ red, _Derek_ did that.

“What?”

“Scott said I wouldn’t have to worry about my clothes because either you’d refuse me and then we’d just have a sad sleepover,” Stiles recites dumbly, “or you’d have feelings for me too and take me upstairs.”

“Feelings,” Derek echoes.

“Yeah, feelings. I mean-” Stiles shifts a little in Derek’s lap, pressing down just a little, and he just  _knows_ he'll have Derek's fingertips bruised into his skin by how they're digging in, and he peers down at wolf, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, “I mean, if there’s no feelings I guess that’s fine too-”

“No, there’s-” Derek swallows. “Feelings. Definitely. I have - those. Um.”

Stiles grins slowly and knocks his forehead lightly against Derek’s.

“Upstairs, then?”

* * *

 

Derek finds he like letting Stiles make him blush.

(Not that he’d admit it, even on his deathbed.)

He also finds he likes being the one to make _Stiles_ blush.

Yeah, he gets the appeal.

**Author's Note:**

> [~tumblr~](http://okamiaki.tumblr.com) (please keep in mind that the post isn't the same edited version.)


End file.
